


if i told you i loved you

by gerardkeaydefensesquad (zade)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sort Of, Spoilers, and then 160 happens, asexual character written by an asexual author, fat character written by a fat author, post 159 pre 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/gerardkeaydefensesquad
Summary: Jon’s fingers run absently along the handle of his cup.  “What you said, in the Lonely,” he starts, and Martin can feel him hedging.  “When you said what you said, I…”  He sighs, using his free hand to cover his face.  “Did you mean it?  When did you know?  How long have you known?”Did he mean it?  Of all the dumb, thoughtless questions.  “Of course I meant it.”--in which Jon puts a little too much emphasis on "loved" and Martin is a little slow on the uptake
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 28
Kudos: 553





	if i told you i loved you

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 159 it's literally just a miscommunication fic with a sappy ending. i read a few on similar topics and i fucking ALSO couldn't get this idea out of my head
> 
> i feel like they might be violently out of character but it'll only get better from here, right? this is unbeta'd and im sick so uhhh i proofread it to the best of my ability don't @me
> 
> (title is meaningless without context but i technically took it from a song from ghost quartet)

Martin is actually surprised it took him so long to notice. In the car on the way to Daisy’s clandestine safe house, Jon had glanced at him every few minutes, uncharacteristically warm smile and face full of something that looked like wonder. Wonder they got free at all. Wonder at being together, maybe.

At some point though, his face had turned, become pensive and sort of manic like it had during his redstring days of stalking Tim. Martin had been seeped in Lonely so long he wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab Jon’s hand, but the one time he had tried, Jon had stared straight focused out the window, hands at ten and two, and had completely ignored him.

Martin should have realized something then, he thinks, but the euphoria of sitting with someone, someone who stupidly followed him into the Lonely—and he’s read the statements, thank you, and knows the only other person who escaped the Lonely was Naomi Herne, thanks to Evan fucking Lukas’ love, so this must be love right?—is overwhelming. His skin is buzzing with love.

“Jon,” Martin says after the second time they’ve stopped to gas up and grab some food, “thank you.” He sounds more effusive than he means to, but Jon loves him, and how else is he meant to sound?

“For what?” Jon sounds distracted, comparing the map in the glovebox to the map on his phone. He had been reluctant to use his phone at first, unsure of what Elias—no, Jonah—could see, but had caved when they had both realized they didn’t know how to get there.

“For—Jon, what do you mean? For coming for me.”

Jon flashed him that same soft smile again, but it was only there for a moment before it dripped from his face leaving him looking like the same dour Archivist Martin had always known him as. “What are friends for? It’s no more than I did for Daisy.”

Which stings a little, actually, but Martin lets it go because it’s been an enormously long day and there are hours still left in their drive, and Martin can’t help, because when he signed on with Peter his driver’s license went missing the same day. It makes sense, he supposes. What’s lonelier than not existing at all?

By the time they reach the house, the car is littered with empty paper coffee cups and biscuit wrappers, and Jon’s hands on the wheel are in a deathgrip. “We’re here,” Jon says anticlimactically, as neither of them makes a move to leave the car. “Let’s pray Daisy has multiple beds.”

She doesn’t.

“It fine,” Martin tells him, brimming with brightness. Most of it is genuine, but he does play up his good cheer in the hopes it will rub off on Jon’s scowling face. “You must be tired after—“ vaporizing Peter “—everything, so you take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Jon looks at him, unimpressed, and it makes Martin want to smile because even so it’s fond. He looks fondly unimpressed. “It’s not a couch—it barely constitutes a loveseat. I’m smaller, it makes sense for me to take the couch.”

“We could share?” Martin offers, and his heart is beating so wildly he can feel it in his throat.

Jon’s face falls slowly, and Martin is sure that means something but he can’t figure it out before Jon’s expression closes off entirely. “I don’t think that would be for the best.”

Martin is pretty sure that isn’t a dig at his size, considering how deftly Jon had talked around it moments ago. “It’s a big bed.”

“That’s not—it’s not that.” Martin opens his mouth to try again, but Jon barrels on. “Please, Martin. I can’t…I can’t handle it. Not today.”

Martin is never one to push until the chips are down, and this is very much not that situation. “All—all right, then, Jon.”

He feels lonely in the bed all by himself, but it’s lowercase lonely, so it’s okay. Or, maybe it’s not okay, but it’s not the kind soul-crushing emptiness, the knowledge that there is no one to connect with and even if there was, there’d be no way of connecting. Jon’s in the other room, and as much as he longs to wrap his arms around Jon, he doesn’t feel alone on an alien planet, just kind of lonesome.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and the quiet is too much to take, so Martin decides to make himself some tea. He never quite mastered Disappearing like Peter can—could—but going Unnoticed was easy enough to learn, and he’s a little distressed to find how easily he can slip back into it. He walks Unnoticed over the creaky floorboards, and the teakettle doesn’t make a sound when it whistles. It’s not until he realizes with a sigh that he instinctively made two cups that the power drops. 

Hearing a gasp, Martin looks up to see Jon jump, heading to the kitchen with an empty glass. 

“Sorry!” Martin reaches out a pacifying hand, aware of how shocking it can be when someone appears in front of you, thanks to months of working with Peter. “I’m sorry. I was just getting some tea. There’s enough for you, if you like?”

Jon nods, a little dazedly. “Thank you.” 

“Sorry, again,” Martin says again, handing Jon the other cup of tea. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s quite all right. I just wasn’t aware you could do that.” He gestures to the clock hanging in the kitchen and Martin follows his gaze. 3:22 am, Jesus. “Did you sleep?”

Martin sips the tea and frowns. Daisy’s tea has lost a little flavor with time. He’ll have to use more next time. “A little. You?”

“A little.” Jon looks exhausted, and Martin isn’t entirely sure how he didn’t see it until now. The bags under his eyes are wide and dark and his hands are shaking very slightly when he brings the teacup up to his lips.

“Maybe you would sleep better on the bed,” Martin tries. He goes for his best come hither pose, but he thinks he probably looks silly. “Room enough for both of us, really.”

Jon’s face hardens again, swallowing up whatever romantic tension Martin was trying to invite into the situation. “Well,” he says, and his voice is harsher than Martin has heard directed at him in years. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Martin.”

That, as a sentence, makes so little sense that Martin doesn’t have any idea how to parse it. Martin doesn’t usually associate life-risking affirmations of love with the type of coldness Jon is radiating. “What?”

He watches Jon sigh and deflate. “Nevermind. Do you…do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

Martin, feeling sort of petty, says, “Can’t you just Know it?” Jon manages to look even more defeated, and Martin immediately regrets it. “Sorry. Wrong time. What do you want to know?”

Jon’s fingers run absently along the handle of his cup. “What you said, in the Lonely,” he starts, and Martin can feel him hedging. “When you said what you said, I…” He sighs, using his free hand to cover his face. “Did you mean it? When did you know? How long have you known?”

Did he mean it? Of all the dumb, thoughtless questions. “Of course I meant it.” How long had he known he was in love with Jon? It felt like forever, like he had been born loving Jon, even though for a sizeable chunk of the first months he knew Jon he had felt nothing for the man. Jon neutral. “A while. A long while.”

Jon’s hand drops. “I see.”

“Which is why I’m inviting you to share the bed. No, you know, funny business. Just a bed. Between two friends.” He doesn’t say, “I’m inviting you to share my bed because I’m in love with you and it seems like you feel the same, and honestly after so long by myself I could use a good cuddle,” but he thinks the subtext is probably there.

If Jon’s face could get any more closed off, it does. “Fine. Right. Just a bed between friends. Between colleagues, even.”

It’s the word colleagues that really begins to get Martin wondering. It’s not that they aren’t colleagues, because sure, but it’s not exactly the most apt word for two people who have feelings for one and other. Martin sighs; he’s exhausted sill and trying to puzzle out Jonathan Sims seems like a task best left till the morning. “Will you just come to bed?”

Jon nods and before he can change his mind, Martin grabs his wrist, and pulls him into the bedroom, reluctantly backtracking when he realizes that Jon’s pillow is still on the couch, but never letting go. He hadn’t lost Jon to the Lonely or the Buried or the fucking Eye and he was not about to lose him in a cabin in Scotland.

Martin doesn’t let go when they struggle into bed, and doesn’t let go when Jon turns on his side to face him. Jon seems to back down with Martin rubbing gentle circles on his wrist, until he’s gazing at Martin with sleepy admiration, which makes Martin’s chest fill with something. He’s not sure what. Human connection, maybe. Affection. Gross, sappy love. “Go to sleep,” he says firmly, a command, and Jon nods just once before he closes his eyes.

Martin doesn’t let go, reveling in feeling unlonely for the first time in months.

Jon isn’t there when Martin wakes up, but that’s okay. His senses are still attuned enough to other people that he can tell Jon is still in the cabin, which is good enough for now. He can feel a conversation heading their way but Martin is first and foremost an avoider, so he makes a beeline for the bathroom to splash some water on his face before he has to deal with whatever’s coming next.

The breakfast Jon has assembled is paltry, canned and tinned from Daisy’s non-perishable collection. Despite Martin’s firm stance on canned peaches, he caves and eats some when Jon offers him the can, not making eye contact. “We’ll go to the market later,” Jon says, pacifying Martin as he chokes down a syrup sweet peach.

When Jon finally looks up from the table, there’s a drip of peach syrup under his lip, and before he can stop himself, Martin swipes at with his thumb, bringing the sweet stain to his own lips to taste, and Jon gasps, standing up in a rush.

“Don’t!” he says sharply, and Martin winces.

“I’m sorry. I just figured…with all that’s been said…but I see I overstepped.” Martin stands gently, moving slowly like he would with a feral animal. “Can you like, clarify where the line is, then? I don’t know how to act around you.” Martin hated his nervous chuckle, but it didn’t mean he could stop himself from doing it.

Jon growled. “I don’t see why we need to keep talking about this. You’ve made yourself clear.”

Martin is fairly certain he had made himself clear, but he isn’t certain Jon had actually understood. The rapid switch between Jon’s smiles and Jon’s painful blank faces make Martin feel like he’s on a tightrope directly above the grassy meadow he imagined they’d be walking through at this point. “Okay,” Martin says evenly. “I think I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

“You and me both,” Jon mutters.

“I’m sorry?” Martin frowns at him, taking a tentative step forward. It is at this point it clicks: they are not on the same page, at all. “What do you mean both? As you’ve said, I’ve been clear about how I feel. And I’ve read the statements, so I know for you be able to break me out of the Lonely, you must, I don’t know, have some sort of feelings for me. Romantically.”

“Yes!” Jon yells, balling his hand into a fist. “I do! And I don’t understand why need to keep rubbing my face in it, considering you don’t feel the same!”

“Hang on.” Martin crosses quickly the rest of the way, wrapping both his hands around Jon’s fist. “Where did you get that from? I literally cannot fathom how any of my behavior for the past three years _at least_ would indicate to you that I am anything but completely smitten with you, you twit!”

Jon’s hand relaxes slowly in Martin’s, and he finally looks Martin directly in the eye. Martin can feel Jon’s gaze all through his being and shivers, but he can tell the moment when Jon Knows he isn’t lying. With the same sort of cautiousness Martin has heard him use around Melania, Jon says, “When I asked, you said you meant what you said in the Lonely.”

“Right,” Martin agrees, beginning to tangle their fingers. “I did.”

Jon swallows hard. “In the Lonely, you said you loved me. Past tense.”

Martin barely resists the urge to call Jon a litany of rude names, which he considers a personal achievement. “Ask me the question like you should have yesterday.”

“All right.” Jon nods, a little shakily. He clears his throat and when he speaks again its with all the gravitas of a statement. “In the Lonely, when you said you loved me, is that true? How long have since you stopped?”

“I loved you. And I do love you. And because I have no sense, I am likely to continue loving you.”

“Oh,” Jon replies, duly. He glances down at their entwined fingers and gives Martin a little squeeze.

“Yes,” Martins says, giddy, not quite managing to keep the mockery from his voice. “Oh.” He doesn’t know how Jon feels about kissing and absolutely does not want to bring to the forefront of this conversation the fact that he has gossiped about Jon with the girls, so instead he says, “Let’s get cleaned up. We can walk into town, find a market. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll see some cows.”

Jon reluctantly detangles his hand. “They’re just cows, Martin, how good could they be?”

“They’re highland cows, Jon! They are all good by default!” He hears Jon laugh as Martin starts carrying the dishes back to the little kitchenette. For the first time in ages, Martin thinks everything is going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> i take prompts, u can find me on tumblr with the same user name xoxo


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